


Better not blink, ‘cause you don’t wanna miss this

by Toomanyfandoms99



Series: Supernatural Season 15 Codas [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Drama, Episode: s15e11 The Gamblers, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:15:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22500832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomanyfandoms99/pseuds/Toomanyfandoms99
Summary: “Good night,” Castiel says.“Good night, Cas,” Jack chimes.Castiel closes the bedroom door.  Jack waits for the soft click, footsteps leaving the crack of light beneath the door.Jack hears a gruff voice.  “Is he asleep?”
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: Supernatural Season 15 Codas [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517966
Comments: 12
Kudos: 205





	Better not blink, ‘cause you don’t wanna miss this

**Author's Note:**

> The title was taken from the song “Blink” by Meghan Trainor.

“Is your laptop off?” Castiel asks, brow arched whilst lingering at the bedroom door.

“Yes,” Jack says, voice deeper than it was months ago. “It’s over there.”

Jack tilts his head to the chair at the end of his bed. Castiel looks and his gaze sweeps back to Jack.

“Pajamas on?” Castiel prompts.

Jack nods at his old gray sleep shirt and blue plaid pajama pants, which he had found in his closet. His belongings, in all this time since his death, had not been touched. Not by Castiel, not by Sam, not even by Dean. It is as if they were holding out hope he would return sooner or later.

“Tucked in?” Castiel asks.

Jack smiles tightly, tucking his legs underneath the duvet. “Yes.”

“I want that light out all night,” Castiel says sternly, as Jack imagined any parent would instruct their stubborn child. “You need to rest.”

Jack cannot use his powers, but he does not need them to know Castiel is exhausted. Despite the healthy glow in his skin, his eyes are often half-lidded, as if perpetually and eternally tired, as if no amount of sleep could help him regain a brightness to his irises. Energy saps out of Castiel with every step he takes into danger, every movement he makes towards an invisible fire, the flames that will destroy the entire world if his grandfather gets the ending he wants for them all.

“Speak for yourself,” Jack says, repeating a line he heard in an old black and white film Dean likes. One of those cowboy westerns, spaghetti or of the outlaw variety. Jack cannot remember, but the point stands.

Castiel shifts from one foot to the other, squinting his gaze at Jack. Instead of making a feisty remark, as Jack had seen occur between Castiel and Dean an innumerable amount of times, Castiel exhales loudly through his nose. 

It is almost a laugh.

Castiel’s lip upturns on one side. “I will, Jack. Now that you’re safe.”

Jack chooses not to dwell on that. Castiel can use Jack as an excuse all he wants. There is nothing he can do to argue with it.

“Good night,” Castiel says.

“Good night, Cas,” Jack chimes.

Castiel closes the bedroom door. Jack waits for the soft click, footsteps leaving the crack of light beneath the door.

Jack hears a gruff voice. “Is he asleep?”

Jack untucks his legs from the sheets and listens to the reply: “He’s trying.”

“Oh,” Jack listens as his legs fall from the sheets and land on the wood floor, “never mind, then.”

“What,” comes the reply, Jack lightly rising from the bed and stepping towards the door, “did you want to wish him good night or something?”

Jack rests his ear on the wooden door. He knows who the voices belong to, now.

“No,” Dean says, “it’s nothing. Just didn’t know if he needed...I don’t know...help?”

“You mean sleeping pills?” Castiel says, clearly unimpressed by the suggestion. “He’s a kid. He shouldn’t get addicted to painkillers or medication of any kind.”

“Right,” Dean scratches his head, their voices still close to the bedroom door, “besides, it probably won’t work for him.”

“It just might,” Castiel says warily, “and that’s what I’m afraid of.”

“What,” Jack can imagine Dean’s brows arching, “do you have some kind of experience with that?” His tone becomes almost teasing, and Jack can imagine his half-smirk. “Were you a drug addict when you were human or something?”

The lighthearted tone does little to alleviate Castiel’s uneasiness. Jack can practically feel Castiel’s wince.

“Not quite,” Castiel says carefully, “but if I...if I weren’t saved,” his trench coat rustles due to a shoulder shrug, “who knows what could have happened?”

Dean sighs, Jack visualizing a guilty frown, “I didn’t mean it like that, Cas. I just mean...I don’t even know what I mean. It’s been a long...well, day doesn’t cover it.”

“Life?” Castiel prompts.

Dean snorts in place of a two-tone chuckle. They both smile, Jack knows how they act.

“There’s been some good parts,” Dean says wistfully. 

Jack hears footsteps from both men, indicating that they were approaching each other. Closer and closer and closer, until Jack’s ear strained to hear them.

“Oh yeah?” Castiel huffs out a laugh in the middle of the words, and Jack’s eyes blow wide in shock, although his eyes can see nothing but the dark wooden door. “What were some of the good parts?”

Dean hums, a grin contained within it. “I wouldn’t say you were every good part,” he murmurs, teasing and animate, “but I would say you were most of the good parts. A solid ninety-five percent, definitely.”

Is this flirting? Is this what flirting is like to witness in real life?

Wow.

Jack cannot take it anymore. His hand curls over the doorknob, and he begins to twist it slowly and quietly.

“Ninety-five percent? That’s it?” Castiel is teasing, now, and Jack is utterly thrown for a loop.

Carefully, slowly, quietly, the door unlocks and shifts open the slightest bit. Jack presses his entire cheek against the wooden door and peers through the crack.

Castiel and Dean stand an inch away from each other at the end of the hallway. Jack catches the back of Castiel’s trench coat, and the softness of Dean’s gaze as he peers down at Castiel.

“Ninety-eight, maybe?” Dean ponders, batting his lashes. “I can’t be sure.”

“Not ninety-nine?” Castiel smiles, even though Jack cannot see it. “How about you go big, for the one hundred percent?”

Dean bites his lip, blushing profusely. “Oh, honey,” his gaze darts away nervously, “you’re too much.”

Honey?

Another man clears his throat pointedly. “Uhhh,” Sam steps into Jack’s vision to regard Castiel and Dean, “can you not flirt in public?”

Sam stares between the two, unsure who to address as they continue to stare at each other.

Castiel studies Dean as he scoffs at his amused brother. “Go Skype Eileen if you want some action, Sammy.”

Castiel slaps Dean square in the chest and whirls around.

Looking right at Jack.

And Jack does not balk or crash onto the floor or pretend he is just leaving his room for a glass of water.

Jack opens the door fully, stepping out of the bedroom threshold and into the hallway. Castiel, Dean, and Sam look; they are the ones who balk.

Jack squints his eyes, cocking his head to the side the way Castiel does when he cannot figure out something.

“Well,” Jack says, “this is good to know.”

At a loss, Jack shrugs and walks back into his bedroom. He shuts the door.

He does not mean to be malicious. He does not mean to make them feel guilty. He just got back; he missed a lot.

He really, really missed a lot.

Castiel knocks on his door. Hard.

“Jack,” Castiel says, his voice hoarse.

Jack sighs and whirls around. His hands curl over the knob and he opens the door unceremoniously.

Castiel practically falls over the threshold, Dean and Sam in the background. Castiel’s eyes are hesitant as he regards Jack.

“It’s fine,” Jack says, “now go to sleep.”

Jack is no good with emotions, so he makes to close the door. Castiel’s shoe stops the door before it can close.

“Is it?” Castiel studies Jack. “Is it really?”

Jack nods. “Yes. Don’t make it less awkward. Good night.”

Castiel’s shoe does not let up. He stares, really stares at Jack.

“Promise you’re okay?” Castiel asks sternly.

“Yes,” Jack parrots.

Castiel studies Jack further, then decides, “okay. Good night, Jack.”

He removes his shoe, and Jack locks the bedroom door.

Is he okay? With the fact that Castiel and Dean are together, sure.

But with everything else? No. He is not okay.

They don’t need to know that.

Jack pads over to his bed and tucks himself in. His eyes are encompassed by pitch blackness, but he closes his eyes anyway, getting comfortable under the sheets.

Concerns about his well being can wait until the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
